Every means of communication what is call languages are mysteries
I am a foreigner in an insulated capsule
I taste. I explore. I take samples to try and break loneliness
I'm learning. Maybe, one day, I will be truely able to write and talk.

mercredi 19 mai 2010

Poet by Moe SEAGER

You Poet
Set lines afire
Spit vowels bursting
Hot flash: as ideas are food for thought
I could eat your words
Suck the salt of your inner vision
Tap the marrow of meaning

You Poet
I could wade the waters of you mouth
Lick your wind blown tongue to its liquorice roots
Caress melody from your vocal cords

Send me turning pages on you
To the end of verse time
Time to ask you
To start it, all, anew

You Poet
I could throw away
My pens and paper plans
Lay my tomes
As stepping stones
To cross over

Let's go out, beyond
Far beyond the last metaphor
A new found hunger
For fresh poems, ripened fruits
Days at play, awesome wander
At the tree of life.